


Heatwave

by happyisahabit



Series: Starlight Collection [31]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M, Heatwave, Kinda, Making Out, Public Display of Affection, Self-Indulgent, Sort Of, Soul Eater Rarepair Day, Temperature Play, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29574636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happyisahabit/pseuds/happyisahabit
Summary: “Can’t let me put this cup away?” Maka asks, even as she pushes his bangs back with her other hand. They stay sticking up.“And waste perfectly good ice?” Black Star grins. Maka presses the cool glass against the side of his neck in punishment, reveling in how he flinches hard.Soul Eater Rarepair Day // February 2021 // Heatwave
Relationships: Maka Albarn/Black Star
Series: Starlight Collection [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/674591
Kudos: 4





	Heatwave

**Author's Note:**

> 100% pure self-indulgent MaStar makeout session *shrug emoji*

“My favorite part of a heat wave is watching the tourists look miserable,” Maka says, sipping her cold drink from the balcony of her and Black Star’s apartment. Black Star squints an eye open from where he is soaking in the rays shirtless on the only lounge chair that fits in the small space. Indeed, the people milling on the street below look terrible, like they’re melting into the pavement and hissing at those who have taken up the meager shade allotted by the buildings lining the road.

It is kind of amusing, to some degree, but there’s better entertainment to be had in the form of Maka’s long legs looking even longer in cutoff shorts with one hip popped out as she leans on the railing. The ice in her glass clinks and he’s drawn out of his sudden trace. Her green eyes raise an eyebrow at him playfully then return back to people watching. Sweat drops slink down the back of her exposed neck at the same rate as those that slip down the glass. Black Star suddenly feels a little like those people down below- overheated, looking for some relief.

Only… Black Star doesn’t think that the reprieve he craves has anything to do with shade and he certainly doesn’t want a cold shower (even if it might help).

He ratchets himself forward in the lounge chair and sits up properly so he can reach out and hook a hand around Maka’s knee. She yelps when he tugs a little to draw her attention back to himself.

“What now?” she huffs.

Black Star looks up at her through sweat-dampened blue bangs. “C’mere.”

Maka shifts to face him while sucking up the last of her drink and starts to step around the chair, but Black Star is quicker. Hands pull on her legs until she topples into him. The remaining ice in the cup jingles, her hand holding it away from Black Star’s head. She ends up awkwardly on his lap until they can sort out their limbs. Her knees bracket his hips right on the edges of the chair and he has to tilt his head up to look at her.

“Can’t let me put this cup away?” she asks, even as she pushes his bangs back with her other hand. They stay sticking up. 

“And waste perfectly good ice?” he grins. Maka presses the cool glass against the side of his neck in punishment, reveling in how he flinches hard.

It makes sense, though, that the cold hits him so hard because his hands are absolute furnaces. They burn heavily on her skin where they sit just below the ripped edges of her denim shorts. Maka knows she’s flushed from where he superheats her skin instead of just the temperature, but prays he doesn’t catch it. 

Slowly, deliberately, she tilts the cup to take an ice cube in her mouth. Black Star’s attention is rapt while she does so, pulling her a little to rest his chin on her sternum. Maka swirls it around her mouth with her tongue until it is gone then repeats the action with a second cube. Bracing with her free hand on his shoulder- and dear lord, why is he shirtless again?- she pushes him back into the chair and leans down.

The clash of temperatures has them both instantly deepening the kiss. Really, she had wanted to tease him with cold lips but from the first touch, he greedily pries open her mouth and melts the rest of the leftover ice chip with his tongue. She’s not complaining.

All too soon, they equalize and Maka wrenches away from where he’s clutching her tighter into the cradle of his arms. Laid back and flushed from ears to nose and down his chest, Black Star stares up at Maka with heated eyes. There’s something powerful about kneeling over him, about his hands just a hair’s breadth away from gripping too tight, from pulling her back in, about how he waits for whatever it is she wants to do.

She thinks it's because he knows her list is both thorough and  _ long _ …

Maka knocks back the rest of the ice, savoring the extreme differential that almost cramps her jaw. She lets it liquify, drain the heat from her tongue and cheeks, burn her teeth with the cold. A drop of condensation from the glass hits Black Star in the chest and the muscle twitches. New prize in mind, Maka gently presses the cup to his sternum and he actually hisses, teeth bared. She thoughtfully rolls it on his chest, the last chill left in it pressing into his pectorals, across nipples, down his abs, down…

It’s more than enough teasing for Black Star. The glass lands close to the patio door with a chink that Maka would scold him for chipping it if her mouth wasn’t otherwise happily occupied. The cold left behind by the ice barely lasts against his onslaught, though she can’t seem to care much. They’re chest to chest with how Black Star roughly tugged her down and they both are exceptionally glad the heatwave had caused Maka to wear a thin halter crop top. 

There’s hands everywhere now that both of Maka’s are free. Bellies press together sticky and hot with sweat and the last of the cup’s condensed droplets, able to feel the contractions of abdominals when Black Star shuffles them down the chair. His legs prop up until Maka’s ass is cradled on top of his thighs. Her knees are further up his sides as soon as he blindly reaches back to lay the lounge chair out flat, just so they can maintain as much contact as possible. There’s a natural rhythm, a heatwave all their own, between them now. 

Her fingers twist his hair harshly while his dance in rough patterns up her thighs and sides and arms to press thumbs into her palms. She takes the cue for what it is, twines their hands together and pushes them above his head. Maka pulls away a little, forehead against his for only a moment, before she squeezes his fingers during a particularly fantastic body roll. Black Star lets her shift his wrists into one of her hands and  _ oh _ . When she pushes herself up from his chest, he gets the best friction and an even better view.

Ash blonde hair mussed, lips kissed reddened, and a heavy flush under eyes practically glowing with a single-minded focus. It’s quite possibly his favorite look on Maka. Every movement, each moment is perfect and he can’t imagine any other way to spend his time, than with her gloriously above him, held down with one hand in his and one over his heart in a sticky sweet heat.

A noise from somewhere breaks the picture-perfect moment when Maka’s eye twitches. Right. The street. The tourists.

Maka is off him in a flash and his head reels at the loss of contact. It feels like every cell in his body is magnetized to follow her. He’s only mollified by how her legs tremble and the breathy way her voice calls out, like she’s just run a marathon.

“There’s more ice inside.”

Those green, green eyes over her shoulder make Black Star adjust himself before he’s able to stand. Then he’s tripping after her and slamming the sliding door behind him.


End file.
